


A Story Told in Beds

by CaptainViolet



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: (kinda), Cuddling, I might change the tags when I add more chapters tbh, M/M, Oh no there's only one bed, i think there may be half a plot though, i'm afraid the chevalier is a bit of a nagger in this, there will not be any smut in this, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-11-26 00:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20920880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainViolet/pseuds/CaptainViolet
Summary: The king has sent his brother on a diplomatic mission. Philippe finds the whole journey terribly boring, cold and drab. Perhaps, he thinks, he can find a bit of warmth in Fabien's arms.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this thing this very morning and I have no idea if it's good or not. But. Here you go.

ON THE ROAD TO GENEVA

The Chevalier’s lament is as incessant as the rain. The food is awful. The horses trot too slowly. The weather is bad. The locals are ugly and speak barely a word of French. It’s too cold. The landscape isn’t as spectacular as promised. There hasn’t been a chance to bathe in days and everyone reeks of horse and sweat, although the rain helps with that.

Philippe knows all that but he doesn’t have to hear it again and again from the Chevalier. The king has sent them to Rome on a diplomatic mission, so they have to travel to Rome. Louis had been kind enough to send them both but Philippe wonders if that has been a mistake. In Paris, the Chevalier has rejected the use of a carriage for being too slow, and has announced that a bit of horse riding has never done anyone any harm. He no doubt regrets this choice by now but is too proud to admit it.

Philippe’s spirits sink as it beings to darken. Night is coming, and there is no place to rest in sight. They’ve been told that there’s a village in between Besançon and Geneva. Did they take a wrong turn? What can they do but push forward until they meet someone who can give them new instructions.

Of course, the Chevalier announces that he’s never been this wet before and that he’ll surely become ill and die of consumption if he has to ride one minute longer. Philippe doesn’t reply. His patience is wearing thin.

It’s already well dark when they find the small village of Champagnole. They find shelter in a clergyman’s house, even though he is a Huguenot. They eat a meagre meal and then prepare for bed. Philippe gets the small bedroom, the minister and his family sleep in his kitchen, and the rest of the small group they travel with prepares to sleep in the living room.

After emptying his cup of sour wine, exhaustion hits Philippe. He is barely dry, and all he wants is to curl up in his bed and sleep.

As he stands, the Chevalier grips his arm.

“Don’t go without me.” No doubt he prefers to sleep in a bed than on one of the armchairs.

“I am tired, chèr.”

“You always are. For the whole duration of this journey you’ve been sleeping alone.” His voice is sweet and even but Philippe senses the silent reproach.

“Please stop asking. I am not in the mood for company.” He also doesn’t wish to discuss the state of his relationship in front of the whole group.

“I am thinking of your benefit only.”

He does not even try to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “Of course you are.”

“It is cold, and your bed will be much warmer with me in it.”

Philippe hesitates. It _is_ cold. It will take ages to warm up under that thin blanket.

The Chevalier senses an opening. “Let’s go to bed. I know how to keep you warm.”

“Non.”

De Lorraine huffs. “Fine. I might have to ask one of those farm workers to warm me up then.”

Philippe shrugs. “Marchal.”

The chief of security is currently attempting to get comfortable on two chairs. He looks up at the sound of his name. “Oui, Monsieur?”

“Get up. The Chevalier will need your chairs.”

“What?”, the Chevalier says.

Marchal complies with the order, even though he seems as tired as the rest of the group. He begins to gather up the woolly blanket that he has put over both chairs.

“This is where you’ll sleep, mon chèr. Marchal can sleep in my bed.”

“Him?”

“Me?”

“Oui”, he snarls at Marchal, “Va-t'en, va-t'en!”

“But-”, the Chevalier begins.

“I will go and try to sleep this very instant. And anyone else who wishes to keep me from my bed may sleep outside.”


	2. The Plan

CHAMPAGNOLE

He wakes in the middle of the night from a need to piss. He is still huddled close to Marchal, and can tell from the cold on the tip if his nose that the room has not warmed up. He convinces himself to get up and use the chamber pot. The quicker this is over, the quicker he can get back into the warmth.

When he is finished he swiftly slides under the blankets and huddles up to Marchal. As he presses his nose into the cushion to warm it, the other man turns to his side in his sleep, and pulls Philippe close. He gives a quiet surprised sound but doesn’t resist. Marchal may not be a favourite but this is not so bad. The Chevalier was right. It’s nice having a bed warmer. And Marchal is an excellent choice. He is quiet, does not bicker or pester Monsieur to share a bed, and yet seems not averse to huddling together for warmth. And on top of all that, having him here vexes the Chevalier so. 

He gets comfortable and tries to sleep. But a different need begins to twitch with interest and keeps him awake. Philippe tires to ignore it but it really is not eased by the warm body pressing into his. _Oh, Dieu! _He really hasn’t been with anyone in a while, has he. Perhaps he should make sure to sleep alone the next night.

Not that he _hates_ this. Marchal may not be his type, but he is not unattractive. Philippe has half a mind to wake him and find out how much he’d like this. Marchal would not pretend or lie; he can trust him that much at least. _If I seduce him, will he be loyal to me first, and second to the king?_ He runs a hand through Marchal's hair, curls his finger around a few strands. Stealing something that should by rights only belong to the king. He’d like that. His brother might not even notice. He bites his lip to hide a smile.

It will take time to do this properly, though. His needs will have to wait.


	3. How Not to Seduce a Man

CHILLON

Finally, a nice place! The weather is as grim as it has always been so far, but this castle is pretty, the food adequate, the wine sweet, the fire crackling, and Lac Léman looks like it might be picturesque when the sun shines. Even the Chevalier has been quieter than usual. He’s also suspiciously eyed Marchal for the whole ride to Geneva, which has nearly made Philippe laugh out loud. He has almost forgiven him already.

Still, he has asked for Marchal’s company again. He wants to play the game, stick to the plan he came up with last night, even though he knows it is but half-baked. It might at the very least keep the boredom at bay.

This time, they lie a few centimetres apart, as the fire warms the room and there is little need to find warmth in each other. Philippe stares at the ceiling, wondering how one would seduce the likes of Fabien Marchal.

“Do you have a sweetheart, Marchal?”

“Quoi?”

“Is there a woman waiting or you in Versailles? Or a man?”

“Non, Your Highness. I find amorous matters too complicated and distracting.”

“Distracting? From what?”

“Duty, Monsieur.”

“How depressing! Duty does not kiss you good night or warm your bed or hold you when you’re sad.”

“You have several lovers and yet not one of them is here to do any of that.”

“Oui. But I could go and ask the Chevalier for a kiss good night. I just don’t want to. Love can be complicated sometimes.”

“Oui, complicated. As I said.”

“It is worth it though. Is duty really enough for you?”

“It has to be.”

Philippe thinks this sounds like a lonely and sad existence. He also has no idea how to turn this depressing conversation into flirting. Perhaps having asked for Fabien's company even though there is no need for someone to warm his bed is a good enough start. The journey to Rome is a long one. There are many nights ahead. 

“Good night, Fabien.”

“Good night, Your Highness.”


	4. A Challenge

TORINO

“Why me?”

Philippe looks up from unlacing his riding boots, watches Marchal undo his cravat. Quite the enchanting sight, especially once the whole necktie is gone. He remembers that he’s been asked a question. “Excuse me?”

“Why did you ask _me_ to join you, Your Highness?”

“Because I like sharing a room with someone who doesn’t try to mount me.”

That makes Marchal laugh in surprise, he looks up, catches Philippe’s gaze linger on his exposed chest.

Philippe makes sure Marchal notices his stare before he goes back to unlacing his boots. Slow steps. He can not proceed as he usually does. When he wants someone’s company at Versailles he asks for it in no uncertain terms. When he spots a handsome new courtier he blows him a kiss with all of Versailles watching. Subtlety is not his forte. But perhaps a few well-chosen glances might do the trick. “Also I feel much safer.”

“Safer? Because of me?”

“You _are_ my chief of security.”

“Perhaps so, but I am sure you would be most apt in defending yourself if we were to be assaulted by, say, a group of dangerous highwaymen.”

He has gotten rid of his boots and slides his coat and vest over his shoulders, throws them over a chair. Then he, too, begins to undo his cravat. “Mh. What makes you think so?”

Fabien is already climbing into bed. “I have seen Monsieur fight.”

He smirks and waits with his reply until the other man looks up at him. Carefully, he slides his cravat off his neck, slower still when he notices Marchal watching. He lets it drop to the floor. “And?”

Marchal blinks before his eyes flick up to Philippe’s face. “It’s impressive.”

_That wasn’t so hard. We are getting there. _“Merci.” He tries not to look too smug as he slides between the sheets. He immediately props his head up on his elbow, very aware just how much of his chest the wide neckline of his shirt reveals. Very aware of how much effort it takes Fabien to avert his eyes. “What do you say to a duel, tomorrow before we ride?”

“I don’t see the point. You’d win quite easily.” Marchal stares at the ceiling.

“Come on, you are not so bad yourself. And I need the practice.” He lightly shoves Marchal’s shoulder.

Who keeps staring at the ceiling. “Perhaps the Chevalier would be the better choice.”

“But I don’t want to fight the Chevalier!” With a resigned huff he sits up to blow out the candles, then lies back and pulls the cover up to his chin. It is too cold to wear a revealing shirt anyway, especially when what it reveals is not even appreciated. It’s not too late for another offensive though. “No fight then. But you must give me some of your warmth.” He scoops over to huddle against Marchal.

“Oh!”

“You don’t mind, do you, Fabien?”

“… Non, Monsieur.”

Philippe smirks into the dark.


	5. A Success, A Very Palpable Success

FLORENCE

“I shall keep you as my bed warmer till we are back in Versailles.” Philippe props up his head on his elbow. “Maybe even while we are at court.”

“Now wouldn’t that cause a scandal.”

“Just a small one. People gossip, but they always tire of it after a while.”

“His Majesty might object.”

“Oui. We will have to be very secretive.” He twirls a lock of Fabien’s hair around his finger. “Or is that your polite way of saying you would rather sleep somewhere else?” He is serious, but accompanies his words with a playful pout. He has been told his pout is most becoming.

It seems to work. “As unusual as it is, I must admit I rather enjoy this arrangement.”

He suppresses a triumphant grin and runs a finger over Fabien’s cheek. “Then we shall keep it up, but discreetly. I will visit you as Madame. The court will gossip only about the mystery lady sneaking into your chambers.”

This generates an extraordinary reaction. Fabien averts his eyes, and is that a blush creeping up his throat?

_Oh, this is going better than expected!_ His heartbeat accelerates. “Would you like that? A visit from Madame?”

“Madame is most charming.”

Philippe moves to all fours, so that he is right above Fabien, their faces only centimetres apart. “You are evading my question.”

There is a long pause, in which he can feel the blood pound in his ears.

“Oui. I would like that.”

He runs his finger over Fabien’s throat. “I should warn you. She can be quite forward.”

“She will have to be, Your Highness. I excel at not noticing ladies’ advances when they are subtle.”

Philippe chuckles. He fishes for Fabien’s left hand with his right, grabs it by the wrist, and pins it into the cushions above their heads. “Would you like it if she was forward? Would it excite you?”

A hitched breath. “Oui.”

Slowly, he finds Fabien’s right wrist and brings it up to pin it next to the other. “And Monsieur? May he be forward, too?”

“Oui.” It is but a whisper.

He has to bite his lip to keep himself from grinning. “Monsieur would quite like to kiss you now. Will you indulge him?”

“I would like that very much.”

He crosses the distance between their lips and the triumph he feels is sweeter than honey. Fabien’s lips are warm and pliant, and his tongue is welcomed with a low sigh.


	6. Obsession

AREZZO

They lie facing each other, close, even though the weather is much better and the room is not cold. Fabien is asleep, and Philippe hardly dares to move so as not to wake him. He is also tired, but knows he might stay awake all night just looking at Fabien.

He keeps telling himself that he needs to tread carefully. That he needs to think things over. All he needs is a quiet moment to focus, or even a night alone, just one, to find out how to deal with this situation. Because he can see it is getting out of hand. But he doesn’t want to spend the night alone.

Ever since Florence, days have been torture; every moment he could not have Fabien to himself felt as if his heart was pulled out between his ribs. Sometimes the emotion has rendered him breathless and he had to stare at the grass beside the road until he was able to think and breathe clearly again.

But his thoughts linger with Fabien, always, always. He usually rides ahead, galloping through woods, needing the cold, crisp air in his lungs. And it always takes all of his will not to look back to the group, to Fabien.

But all his haste does not mean that night comes faster. Cherished night, when he does not have to hold back, when his fervent kisses are met with equal ardour, when he knows that Fabien is his. He’s spent so much time thinking about how best to ensnare Fabien that he hasn’t noticed he has been ensnared himself in the process.

In Arezzo, they have seen an Italian opera. He’s heard Italian operas are inferior to French ones in every aspect. And yet. He’s never been so engrossed in anything than seeing Julius Caesar on stage, a successful military leader rendered helpless by his overwhelming love for fair Cleopatra. The Chevalier had commented on his obvious staring, had said that handsome singers in fetching uniforms will always catch Monsieur’s eye. Laughable. The singer was interchangeable. It was the story, so perfectly interwoven with stunning music, that had left him overcome with emotion.

_Surely, _Fabien_ understands that_, he thinks in the silence of the night. Philippe hasn’t had a chance to ask. They have been rather preoccupied.


	7. A Question

ROME

Philippe trails lazy kisses along the side of Fabien’s neck.

“I thought your brother told you to be on your best behaviour.”

He stops. “Have I not been?” His eyes find Fabien’s. “I can kiss you elsewhere, if you prefer.”

He delights in the warm chuckle. “That’s not what I mean. I mean that His Majesty might not approve of how you spend the nights in the City of God. I am sure our hosts are aware of my … visits.

“The temptation to sin in the City of God is too great. Besides, you came here of your own accord tonight.”

“Do I not have a standing invitation?”

“You do. And yet … His Majesty might not find it appropriate, and yet you came.”

“And yet I came.”

“Fabien?”

“Oui?”

He wraps his arm tightly around Fabien’s waist. “Do I compromise you?”

“I don’t know what you mean, your Highness.” Fabien puts a hand over Philippe’s arm.

“You do have a point. What if Louis disapproves of … _us_.” Philippe bites his lip. The question that started all this, and that has been on his mind ever since Florence, weighing so much more than he anticipated.

“I serve all of the Royal family.”

Fabien is irritatingly good at evading questions, but Philippe will have none of that. “Of which the King is the head. Would you listen to him, were he to forbid us to meet like this?”

Fabien lets out a sigh. “Non.”

Philippe presses his face into Fabien’s shoulder to hide his smile. “I would come first?”

“Mais oui. You always will.”


	8. Epilogue

VERSAILLES

“Going to bed already?”, the Chevalier asks. He has not one but two scantily clad young men on his lap, and is obviously in a splendid mood.

“Oui. Your little celebration is wonderful, but it has been a long journey and I need to sleep.”

“Alright. Don’t wait up for me though.”

“I won’t. Good night.” Philippe bows down to kiss de Lorraine’s temple, then grabs a candleholder and slips out of the salon.

He has made sure not to have too much of the fine wine this evening. De Lorraine has thrown a ‘finally we are back in civilisation’ party. It has been most entertaining, but he, Philippe, has further plans for the night, and so his alcohol consumption has been unusually low.

On his way he finds a tablecloth with intricate embroidery; he snatches it and drapes it over his hair. There is no point in trying to be stealthy, as he knows the patrolling guards will certainly spot him. But he can try to be unrecognisable. A few minutes later, he arrives at the top of the stairs. He gathers his dress and slowly, quietly, makes his way down.

The moment he takes the last step, strong arms grab him, the candle falls to the floor and flickers dangerously, he is whirled around a corner and a cold blade presses against his throat. The tablecloth has wafted away somewhere into the dark.

“That is not quite the welcome I expected.”

“Oh, Your Highness!” He is immediately freed. He can see the shadow of Fabien pick up the candleholder. “Please excuse my old habits. I did not expect you.”

He takes the candle from Fabien’s hands and lights a few more to illuminate the room. “I got quite lost, Monsieur Marchal, and quite scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

Philippe puts down the candleholder and walks back to Fabien. “Of the dark”, he whispers, and wraps one arm around the other man’s shoulder. He lightly puts his other hand on Fabien’s chest and locks eyes with him.

“The dark? You have never been scared of the dark before, Monsieur.”

He simpers. “Oh, and I feel much better already. The presence of a tall, strong man helps a lot.”

Fabien only looks up at him, confused. “You are taller than me, and a strong man yourself.”

Philippe groans with despair. “Fabien, I am trying to be a damsel in distress!”

“Whatever for, Your Highness?”

“So you would feel like you saved me, and then, like in a novel, we would kiss and you would spend the night doing unspeakable things to me.”

“_What_ sort of novels do you re-”

He huffs, lets go of Fabien, and takes out his fan just to hit the other man’s arm with it. “Outrageous ones. Romantic ones.”

“I don’t find it very romantic to ask an innocent lady for a kiss if she is helpless and dependent on me for her safety.”

“I am not innocent and you know it.” He smacks Fabien’s arm again with his fan for good measure.

“Oui. Then why pretend to be?”

“Because you wanted a visit from _Madame_. You told me so in Florence.”

It’s hard to tell in the flickering lights of the candles if Fabien is flushing. He certainly looks a little sheepish. “I also told you that Madame would have to be very forward.”

Philippe grins, understanding. “Oh! You do not care for simpering ladies who are in need of aid?”

“Non. I had hoped for a visit from _you_, not a damsel in distress.”

He throws the fan over his shoulder. “Consider her gone.” He steps closer, pushes Fabien against a table, and firmly covers Fabien’s lips with his. “Like this?”

He can hear Fabien’s hitched breath. “Oh, oui, like this.”


End file.
